


He Looks Like Sin

by another_crack_in_time_and_space



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Assault, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Murder, Sad Dorian, Seven Deadly Sins, Slavery, There really is no comfort I'm sorry, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5982841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_crack_in_time_and_space/pseuds/another_crack_in_time_and_space
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He spends all of his time in the Inquisition attempting to repent, one must wonder how much he has to be sorry for. A series of drabbles, not necessarily chronological, that looks at the sin in Dorian Pavus' life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Greed/Gluttony

He supposed his own betrothal celebration should be at the very least amusing. 

The venue was astounding. It was his own home after all. Their ballroom had been rubbed raw by slaves and now glimmered in the light of a huge chandelier. Hundreds of people milled below the candle light chatting and swaying politely to music, as true dancing wouldn’t start for another hour, by his guess. Long tables on either end of the room were laid with enticing treats, soft na’an and fine antivan wines. Many people hovered here, passing out glasses of wine like candy. Huge bowls full of actual sweets glimmered like gems. Dorian was almost glad for the children digging their hands into the bowls. He doubted anyone over twelve would be caught dead with a truffle in their mouth. This of course is why Dorian had snagged a few and had been walking about aimlessly, popping them into his mouth deliberately. If Livia was sentencing himself to this life, the least he could do was embarrass her in turn. 

He scratched nervously at the high collar of his tunic where the golden rope caught his neck. He was practically a walking flag for Tevinter. A ring velvet tunic had been dyed black and sewn meticulously with obsidian beads along the torso and neck. They glinted like a dragon’s eye in the light, and rattled slightly with each step, which was a cause of no small annoyance to Dorian. The whole affair was trimmed in gold leaf. Under it Dorian had been groomed meticulously. Not a hair remained on his body, save the carefully styled moustache and quiff of course. He had been rubbed down like a prize show horse with antivan oils, at his insistence. Dorian found a way to add a glittery powder to his kohl, even drawing a daring gold wing tip. It had been an arduous process and his leggings chaffed insistently. That was the last time he let his mother tell him Qunaris silk was better than that of Antivan. Both locales were far too dry for silk worms anyway. He would have done better to be strutting about nude. 

Once his candy was gone Dorian slipped over to the table to get a glass of mulled wine. Funny enough not many even paid him attention. It was his event and they had all flocked around Livia, who was absolutely enthralling in her black muslin dress. The back had been completely cut away and in its place a golden snake hung down the length of her spine, secured to her dress by gold chains. Her pale skin shimmered, the work of an alchemist's trick perhaps. Dorian cared not and turned his eyes away, though he could almost smell her from across the room. The extravagance of it humbled even himself. Her curled black hair had been plaited into a crown which must borrow heavily from Rivani styles. A heavy gold band, encrusted with freshwater pearls and jade beads hung delicately in her twisted locks, much to the effect of a halo. Even she had a point to prove tonight, Dorian supposed. There was too much fire in her eyes even from here, even just from being in the same room. 

‘Ah, good’ Dorian thought glumly. ‘For a moment I thought we wouldn’t end up like my parents. Now I truly can resign myself to a life of misery’ He took a strong sip from his wine, frowning to himself. If this was how little alcohol was served he was going to need something much stronger. Andraste’s blood, he’d be drinking brandy by the time the first dowager appeared to ask after his unborn children. He smiled mirthlessly and went to seek out his companion, Felix. 

Felix stood stately against the fireplace, leaning just too heavily against the wall, eyes just a shade too bright. The blight had not been kind to him, if it ever was. He coughed slightly into the collar of his satin robes, dyed red for this purpose. The poor bastard. Dorian chilled his hands slightly when he went to embrace Felix which made the heat radiating off him all the more noticeable. 

“Dori, you don’t have to keep checking on me.” Felix whined, though he leaned into the Dorian all the same as he rested beside him. “You’ve been in a mood all night. I can tell by your eyes, don’t pout like that.” Dorian tossed his head obstinately. 

“I’m staring the end of my life in my face, Felix. Sorry that I’m doom and gloom.” He inclined his head, eyes catching on the fluttering pulse in his friend’s neck. Many a time he thought of laying kisses there, of screaming to the world that he’d be trapped in a loveless life for decades. Alas social norms cowed even him in this moment. He turned his head sharply away to find his mother marching toward him. “Oh Maker, here she comes.” Dorian muttered grimly, she was undoubtedly here to urge him to speak to Livia. He ducked back into the crowd with a parting squeeze of Felix’s hand, vanishing in swirls of black and gold. He veered suddenly to his right, snagging another glass of wine and appearing at Livia’s side, slightly breathless. 

She turned to him, surprise forcing her lips up in a daring smile. Her eyes fluttered and she laid the barest of kisses on his own cheek. God, if it didn’t seem sweet to their onlookers, it felt as if he had been tricked by a least favored cousin. 

“Ah Livia, my dear.” He spoke hurriedly, drinking his glass with a touch more decorum. “You look absolutely ravishing.” He nodded to the gaggle of women before her. “And your company, each more beautiful than the last. How has your night been treating you?” The ladies merely giggled in response before one raised a silk glove to her lips. 

“Oh, Messer Pavus, you are a delight as always. Ladies, shall we retire to the garden? I dare say it’s much too warm here.” The group left before Dorian could stop them, leaving the couple alone. Livia turned with a fire in her eyes, to which Dorian’s response was to swallow down more wine. 

“Must you make everything insufferable?” She asked in harsh whispers, a free hand fluttering to her eyebrows. “I was actually enjoying myself. “

“Oh, the sweet words you have for me. Trust, their leaving was not an intended effect. Though an important one. My mother is on the hunt, and Maker preserve the man to get in her way. Look as if we don’t hate each other, hmm?” He held out a hand to her, which she regarded for most of a moment before turning away. 

“Fetch me some wine before you drink it all yourself. And for the love of the Maker, please speak with some people. You’re an embarrassment.” Dorian snatched his hand away with a scowl, before saving face by schooling his own. 

“Of course, my dear.” He kept his shoulders straight as he walked through the room, trying to hunt down a slave. He had the habit of slouching when he was irritated and it would do him no good in mingling. He finally saw an elf in the corner, and grabbed a glass from her. Absently he sipped from it, forgetting his fiance's request. Dorian sought Felix and caught his eye, smiling as kindly as he could. 

With a stiff back and hollow gaze Dorian turned his attention to digging through crowds, shaking hands with magisters and smoothing over long forged connections with the other Altus’ in attendance. No other class dare think they’d be included in this celebration, not unless they were seeking a quick social death. Though Felix was here, but his connection to Dorian excused that. Dorian couldn’t deny that he was among one of the more powerful families, though that power was slipping with the decline of his family. He found himself with another full glass and another smiling face to entertain. For the better part of an hour he talked himself hoarse over how delightful this all was, how beautiful his betrothed was, how this was for the good of all Tevinter. This match was perfect, he was perfect. A shining example of a man, almost larger than life. He was clever, powerful, and beautiful. He had climbed the circle hierarchy like it was little more than a flight of stairs. He could dance and sing and bend over backwards when it was asked of him. And yet here he was, harboring a secret in his chest like some foolish Soporati. 

When he finally stopped to breathe he found himself walking the line of embarrassingly drunk. If he vomited at their betrothal party Livia would never forgive him. He puffed up his chest a tad and walked with purpose to the balcony that lead down to the gardens. Once he stepped outside a wind played at the tails of his tunic and cooled his over heated face. He nearly sighed with the pleasure of it. A few turned to stare at him, seeing as he was conspicuously alone. He imagined it would feel this way when they were married as well. The thought burnt off some of the comfortable buzz that had built up in his head. Of course, they’d have to marry. This wasn’t just for show any longer. Dorian wasn’t stupid. He’d been preened for this day with a careful hand and centuries of precedent. But here he stood, alone at his own party thinking he still had an after when they had married. There was no self actualized after. He’d take over at the Magisterium, raise children, become a shining example of what Tevinter should be. Once upon a time he supposed that thought brought him joy. He’d finally have satisfied all his father asked of him. Halward Pavus would have something to be proud of, finally. 

But to have to shut his own heart to do it? To have to swallow back bile any time he touched his wife? Could he continue like that? Dorian leaned on the balustrade before him, cradling his head in his hands, watching couples walk their gardens, arm in arm. How romantic it was among the crystal grace, with all the torches that had been lit upon the walk. One might turn to the other, whisper sweet secrets in their ear, lay a kiss upon a warm cheek. They were unburdened and light hearted, uncaring who could see them. They were allowed to be seen, Dorian corrected as an afterthought.  

He too had once walked these gardens with a lover, years ago. A closely guarded secret even then. The summer heat had swelled the berry bushes to bursting and their perfume had clung to the pair. Maker, how they used to kiss under the Juniper trees, foolishly brazen. Dorian shuddered at the thought of how that relationship had panned out. Sometimes the image came to him, unbidden. Rilienus’ handsome face, as Dorian best remembered, turned slack and marked with a sunburst mark. And who had passed that vote? Could Dorian keep denying that his father had submitted his lover for the rite of tranquility? 

Of course he could. He was a Pavus. Love was not meant for the Altus class. It was to protect Dorian’s foolish heart. He had brought it on himself, really. One does not get attached to conquests. Besides, Rilienus was still alive somewhere, probably serving in a library or something. It’s not as if he died. All the wine was making him sentimental. He chilled his hands and pressed them to his face, turning to the ballroom. 

“To war.” He muttered to himself, returning to his life once more. 


	2. Lust

They were eleven and stupid. It was the hottest summer Dorian could remember. The heat of it was suffocating, and deadly. Many rich families were losing slaves to the heat, and citizens were falling in droves. His mother had sent him further south that year, to a summer cottage. Other families lived in the area, of course. There were other children to play with. Not that Dorian much liked them. He was the oldest by half, and would spend much of his time reading in cool, dark corners. 

They met accidentally, during a game of hide and seek. Antoine, his name was. His pitch black hair and glimmering green eyes were positively...new. Dorian, at this age, liked new. He craved the adventure that Antoine’s smile promised. Antoine’s family had come in a week ago, and all Antoine had seen fit to fill his time with was running and exploring. He drew Dorian out of the cellar and into daylight, which was a much harder task than it seemed. 

They would take walks together, talking about Dorian’s books or a new place Antoine had found. Antoine would goad Dorian into following him into caves, or to go river stomping. On more than one occasion Dorian was forced to save them from whatever inhabitants there were with quick thinking and fire magic. The sun burnt both of them bright pink, for the sheer amount of time they spent in it. New freckles sprouted all over them, like points on a map. They would name them sometimes, count them every time they went swimming together. To Dorian there was no other companion he’d rather be with. 

It was rain that changed things. A rapid summer storm chilled the north, and many families left for Minrathous, eager to return home. In Dorian’s case it meant his mother was free to join him, much to his dismay. Antoine stayed on, begging his parents for just another week. He'd be returning to the circle in no time at all and he wanted to spend what freedom he had on Dorian. With the other children gone they took more risks. They often forgot bathing suits, preferring the feel of water on every inch of their skin. They'd stay out longer, walking until well after dark. Antoine kissed him first, on the shore of the lake, hands buried in the dark curls Dorian had been growing out. Their bodies were covered in silt and muck and neither minded. If it hadn't been for the chill they may have just lain together right there. 

Suddenly their going out meant much more. It was sneaking now, explanations that were far too involved, too much guilt in their freedom. But they could hardly help themselves now. This was a sort of euphoria neither had expected, and the bitterness of being secret couldn't sate their hunger for the other. The caves they found became havens for wandering hands, the rivers became sacred ground for the sweet nothings of lust. Dorian was lost in heady waves of want and need, without a care for the how's and why’s. 

But they were young, and stupid. The young and stupid always meet a tragic end. Of course they were done in by the watchful eyes of adults. How could he hope to escape with the bruises buried in his neck? His mother had noticed first, made a strangled sound which scared Dorian half to death. She’d pinned him down with pure force of will and combed it away, as if it had never existed. That was the youth poking through. The stupid had been thinking he was safe from his father, who never much looked beyond his nose. He had stayed behind in Minrathous after all. Dorian wouldn’t know how sharply his father watched, especially when it came to his son, not for many years. 

Dorian had stumbled into the cottage late one night, with the taste of Antoine still in his mouth. His lips were twisted into a gleeful foreign smile. If anyone saw him now, they’d have said the boy was mad. Or in love. 

And there was a lighting of candles, a harsh cough, a sharp intake of breath once a secret is found out. Halward Pavus entered from one side of the room, with a grim set to his mouth. Dorian swallowed hard. 

“Should you possess such an inclination as perverse as a taste for men, my son,” his father began, “This can be seen to. Managed. That you see fit to parade it around like a new toy is embarrassing.” The hot whip of shame hit Dorian right as his father had intended. The child could barely think to defend himself. “We are men of house Pavus. Not lowly animals, fucking anything that moves. Get yourself cleaned up, and pack. We leave for Minrathous immediately.” 

That thought broke Dorian from his fear and he scrambled for something to say, anything to keep him from leaving Antoine. He couldn’t survive on his own, not like he had before. He needed him, forever. He wouldn’t let his father separate them. In one last noble gesture Dorian sputtered out a final plea. 

“I love him.” He cried. It was his first act of defiance in years. Almost his last. Everything in that moment shook. Dorian’s heart, body, and voice. His father’s will. The glasses in the cabinet when Halward’s voice crashed against them. The paintings on the wall when Dorian crashed against them. 

“You love nothing,” his father spat. “You only want and take and swallow, you insolent child. Get up, go pack. You are done here. You will never speak with him again.” 

And so Dorian ran, cowed by his father’s wrath. He packed diligently, silently folding robes and shifting books. He left them aside for the slaves his father no doubt had brought with him. Then he set to scrubbing all the dirt off of his hands, scrubbing his face and neck of any lingering touch. He didn’t dare a look into the looking glass, nor did he stop for any more sentiment. His thoughts were already bad enough. He wanted to think it was unfair, that his father didn’t understand. But he was young, and he was stupid. He knew there was truth in his father’s words. This was wrong. How could he not know he was wrong? No one else was like him, loved like him, anyway. They all wanted the right people. A man to want a man? Deplorable. Wrong. Dirty. 

Sinful.

Once his things had vanished and his father has sent a slave to knock at his door he left his room, exiting without a second glance. He climbed into the carriage outside, sitting stoically opposite his father. Dorian of house Pavus. A broken thing, to need managing. A sinful thing. His father would know how to take care of it. He always did. 

“I’m sorry, father.” He kept his tone as neutral as he was able. “I never meant to...hurt you. I didn’t think-”

“No, you never do. Quiet, for now. We will see this worked out by morning,” Halward rubbed his forehead as if it pained him. “What a fucking mess.”

* * *

 

Only in the past few years did Dorian think to inquire about the boy, Antoine. Years at the inquisitor’s side had taught him what broken was, and he knew it no longer fit him. Perhaps he may find Antoine, explain to him what happened, why he left so long ago. 

When he found the boy, he was no longer a boy. He was a man. A father, of two girls and a son. Married to a strong house. They met again at a party which Dorian had pulled quite a few strings to get into. Antoine barely recognized him, which was to be assumed. He was no longer a gangly eleven year old, curly headed and reckless. They embraced, as friends, so loose they barely touched. Dorian could see the haunted shadows in his eyes, and the tension in his shoulders. He had abandoned him at the will of a man who wanted Dorian dead rather than public about his affections. They spoke with bluntness saved only for those whom have been loved dearly, or despised greatly. When they parted Dorian could not say on what terms. News reached him months later of Antoine’s death, and Dorian could not say it was a shock so much as a scandal. He already knew the boy he loved that summer was gone. There was hardly anyone left to grieve for. Not that he didn’t do his best to mourn, but that he was mourning for a stranger. 

Dorian supposed that perhaps he should hate his father for that night, but he only felt guilt. He might have saved him, might have struck against his father more. But he could not change what came to pass. One man can not be so strong, nor so to blame. 


	3. Envy

Corypheus had been just over a year dead when Cullen invited his family to Skyhold. Even still he’d been a wreck of nerves that it was a foolish idea and they were going to be hurt. He had to be constantly assured that they would arrive happy and healthy in one piece. When they arrived a few weeks later Cullen was over the moon. He and Branson spent hours together, messing around with his nephew like they were all eight years old. They both ganged up on Mia in chess, playing two to one and still losing. Rosalie was just over twenty two and spent most of her time trying to be above their games, preferring to spend time with Cullen after the two other boys had gone to bed, speaking far longer into the night than was healthy for a man still in charge of the world’s most influential forces. Rosalie and Dorian spent much time with each other during the day, striking up an unusual friendship. Mia was Cullen’s most frequent shadow. She was only barred from war meetings at Cullen’s request, saying the information might put her in danger. The family stayed on for two months before setting out again for the south of Ferelden, now traveling with an enthusiastic guard, no doubt over eager to put their commander at ease. They parted tearfully, of course. Even Dorian seemed perturbed by their leaving, and kept stiff during the whole affair, withdrawing as soon as they crossed over onto the bridge. 

The family had charmed the companions. They talked about them for the following weeks, especially Josephine. She missed her family in Antiva terribly, and had been trying to keep it quiet as best she could, but the inquisitor called her out on it almost immediately. Noting how taken her sister Yvette had been at the winter palace, Lavellan suggested she visit, if she was of a mind. Josephine seemed taken aback by the suggestion, but was secretly overjoyed at the plan. She arranged it all with a swiftness she had last shown a year ago and soon enough Yvette was skipping into skyhold like the sun. She had extended the invitation to her brothers but they declined to watch over what was left of the construction of trade ships. 

Yvette cause quite the storm, flirting with everyone and flitting about like an overexcited bird. She spent half her time braiding Josephine’s hair into increasingly complex designs and gossiping about court. The other half she spent hanging on Lavellan’s every word, much to his embarrassment. Not that she didn’t conduct herself as every inch the child of powerful family she was, but that Lavellan was still uncomfortable with such idolation. Josephine did her best to pry her sister off of him, but Yvette was just as stubborn. She did a fair amount of hanging on the other companions. She was most intimidated by Bull but immediately hit it off with Dorian, to everyone’s surprise. Even his glancing comments didn’t throw her. In fact she returned them with even more bite. The pair were often seen walking the grounds together. Lavellan was glad to see Dorian out of the library for once, but was confused as to this behavior. Normally the man wasn’t big on strangers. He held them all at a distance, but even he could see that Yvette and Dorian were thick as thieves. 

When time came for Yvette to leave Dorian couldn’t be found for hours. Not one to shirk dramatics, Lavellan was thoroughly confused, and slightly embarrassed that the young girls new friend had blown her off. Yet Yvette didn’t seem to care. She only shrugged and said, mysteriously, that she and ‘Dori’ had already bid farewell. Once she had been gone from the hold for a day Lavellan, still unable to find him, began searching with vigor, only slightly guilty that he was diverting his time to something of a lower priority. 

Dorian was not altogether hiding, which meant he was not altogether sulking, which further meant he was not ashamed of his behavior in the past few months. He had foolishly ingrained himself into these people, bending over backwards to get them to like him. Mia had been so kind and sure spoken, those deep motherly eyes soothing a part of him he hadn’t realized was hurting. They spoke at length, initially about Cullen of course, but they soon found more common ground. Mia discussed losing her parents, her move south and her children. Dorian talked about his relocation, more recent than hers but now a memory to him. Once they had been perched on a bench in the gardens, the gathering dusk shielding them enough for confessions as emotional as the ones they were sharing. Dorian had brought a shaking hand to his mouth, tapping nervously on his bottom lip before cracking a watery smile and asking if parents were really all they were made up to be. His had all but turned him out, abandoned him like a lame show pony. There had been one attempt at reconciliation, a bad one at that. He’d left the door swinging in his father’s face. 

Mia had taken his hand in hers then, patting it gently and smiling back at him with an expression he had only seen carved onto Andraste, a look that made him think mercy could really exist in such end times. She held onto this hand as she turned her attention to the garden, gathering her wits. 

“I will not pretend to know if I am a good mother, Dorian. Only that I’ve been a mother for a very long time,” She had said. “I don’t know how your parents think, nor what actions they took against you, only that you’ve been carrying their scars for much longer than you should have.” She brought her free hand to his cheek, a foreign affection he allowed more out of shock than consent. Was she telling the truth? These were dangerous words. They validated him and gave him hope. He wasn’t much in the business of hope after seeing all the work that went behind creating it. 

“Right, well the day is dark, and I thank you for indulging me.” Dorian brushed it all off quickly, with a stuttering breath. “I can see why Cullen never stops speaking about you. You do me too much kindness. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He tucked his robes around him and fled as quickly as possible from that conversation, staying scarce until he was positive they had left the following afternoon. 

Yvette had been even worse, a sister he never had. She was a delight who could match him tit for tat at anything. They had gone on about Josephine’s quirks and the unyielding pressure of their respective positions in their families. One would think being the youngest daughter would be a breeze but Yvette harbored resentment for the belittlement of her life choices. Dorian latched on much too tight, exposing his unspoken jealousy for her siblings more in gesture than in word. If he had a brother than his life would never had been so difficult. Nor would it have been placed in immediate danger every time he made a mistake. But dwelling on that gave him too much to ponder, so he quickly turned away from that line of thought. 

The pair had met the night before she left, sheltering in the library, passing spiced cider between them. Conversation was stilted. Her imminent departure hung between the pair like a heavy blanket. Finally she set down her glass and looked him straight in the eyes, mouth puckering. 

“Dori, we’ve been much too coy with each other,” She argued. “We’ve come to know each other personally in these last few weeks and yet there is still something under your skin.” Dorian sputtered, swallowing hard around the mouthful of cider. 

“Beg pardon?” he asked, his voice cracking. He was less sure if the stinging nickname caught him off balance or the astuteness of her comment. Was shrewdness hereditary? He poured himself another glass, turning his eyes to the books around them. “I have no idea what you’re referring to, my dear.” 

“Oh, you poor fool. It’s a woman’s intuition. You’re holding back.” She practically purred this, drawing even closer to him, thin hand reaching across the small table to take his. He retracted quickly and grimaced as he drank. Her face soured but her eyes were sad. She was pitying him. Actually  _ pitying _ him. “You love them, don’t you?” she asked suddenly. 

“Love who?” His eyes were wide now, worried she had seen through his act, that she saw the truth of his relationship with Lavellan. It had been obvious at the winter palace, a rumor he and Josephine had worked to banish from the walls of court. 

“All of your friends here. Iron Bull, Sera, Blac - I mean, Rainier.” Here Dorian outright laughed, though it was a hint sharper than it should have been. Yvette tucked her hair back, heavy brown eyes pinning him down. “You love them, and yet you hide this hurt from them. It’s unfair.” 

“You don’t understand me.” He answered quickly. “I am hiding nothing. But if I were, it’s best to keep whatever it is from them. For all our sakes.” He shrugged here, as if that could downplay the obvious confession. 

“You must know that is not selfless. It only serves your own insecurity.” She tapped the rim of her glass, which Dorian filled dutifully. “Which only causes you pain, and thus causes them pain. Causes  _ him _ pain.” Yvette’s face drew mischievous at that, knowing he’d get her meaning. She downright terrified him.

“Well, it’s hypothetical anyway. I am not hiding anything. And I would prefer we drop this.” his eyes flashed testily. “Now.” 

“I wonder if you don’t know how much you mean to these people.” she tutted, but he didn’t follow up with a retort. They spoke little else, Yvette quickly retreating to bed with the barest of kisses on his forehead. They froze for a moment, looking at each other in the candle light. There was a spark of could have beens between them, but Yvette knew it was futile, if fun to play with. 

“Take care of yourself Dori.” She whispered into his hair, then leaving with a glimmer of lavender. “I will miss you when I go.” He nodded and parroted it back thickly. 

These conversations pulled on either ear like a devil on his shoulders, taunting him with cruel whispers of change and hope. He just had to go and get attached didn’t he? Maker above, he was so stupid. People leave, especially family. So he got a bad hand with his own parents, who was he to inflict that on everyone else? 

And yet here he sat, hiding - no, he was sure it was sulking now - in his rooms, staring into an open book and mouth screwed tight. He needed to get over this display of dramatics. The envy in his heart would only poison him against everyone he held dear. Even Lavellan, he supposed, who had been showing unusual interest in the movements of his clan. Yet everything he saw or did only fed it, growing it into a bubbling monster in his chest. He wanted what they had like he’d never wanted anything in his life. If his parents were different, he’d be in Tevinter, drinking in sunlight, happy and home. 

If they were different he’d never have had to flee in the dead of night selling anything he could to get to the south. He’d never have risked his life to stop Alexius, would never have met Lavellan. He’d never have faced down dragons and bandits and Gods. He’d never have learned the warmth of a bed when it’s been kept hot by another man’s body. He’d never have learned forgiveness or tolerance. He’d be living a carefully sheltered life, focused only on politicking and power. If nothing else he’d have been more comfortable. 

He was happy here, he reminded himself. Yes, but empty. He had a tenuous grasp on his identity outside of the immediate. A family could give that to him. But were these people, his closest friends, not his family, as Yvette had said? Were they not good enough for an evil greedy magister? Why was he over reaching? He scarcely deserved the lot he had and wanted only more. The Iron Bull didn’t have a formal family, he’d found one in the Chargers. Lavellan had been torn from his people and surrounded by humans for years, but still managed to carve out a place. Perhaps Dorian was just too weak willed for this. 

Fear did nothing but take from him. He shut the book and rose from his chair sloppily, crossing to the table he imagined as a side board, pouring the wine he kept there into a glass, though that was more out of habit than manners. Liquid courage could stave off the cold hands of want, as could the affections of another. Downing the glass with an ungentlemanly thirst Dorian left his rooms to seek out Lavellan, abandoning the ghosts of feelings he would keep quiet for years to come.


	4. Wrath

He wakes up alone, shivering. He is sweating out last night’s bottle...or was it two? He can’t bother to remember because his head is absolutely about to burst open. With shaking arms he peels the sheets off, the barest rustling against his skin setting off ripples of pain and nausea. Maker, who let him do this?

Oh right.

He did.

Climbing slowly out of bed Dorian took stock. Though battered, he hadn’t been in a fight as far as he could remember. No stranger was in his bed. Nothing was broken, so long as he could tell. He leans heavily against the wall as he makes his way to the bathroom, wiping the sweat off his brow. What happened last night? He considers this idly as he takes a deep breath and continues on the agonizing quest into his bath. His memories are shadowy in his mind, something he couldn’t quite grab onto. Was that his father yelling, or himself? Was that dress one of his mother’s, or another failed betrothed? Did he go out to get drunk, or did he stay in?

His bathroom is dark and cool, a blessing to him. Unseen is the slave in the corner, waiting at silent attention to assist him, perched in a bathing chair. His dark sin had him nearly blending into the sand stone walls. Clearly, Dorian thought, he had prepared himself for bed last night, being devoid of all clothing. So perhaps no damage had been done. If only he was so lucky.

Turning to find the looking glass, Dorian is met with a blank wall. Only now does he register the pain in his feet, looking down with stifled horror. The room is full of broken glass. He can see the warped sea green of the Antivan wine, aftertaste still on the back of his tongue. Like fish left out in the harbor the shards of the looking glass shine menacingly bright in the darkness. His mouth falls into a grim line as he turns to the slave.

“What is the meaning of this?” Dorian growls with venom, “Did you intend for me to injure myself? I should have you killed.” The slave does not react to this threat which only angers Dorian more. He stumbles toward them, furiously. “You incompetent knife-ear, are you even listening to me?” An unsteady hand strikes out to grab at the large pointed ear of the elf. He twists it cruelly in the same moment as he realizes the slave falling limply toward him, eyes glazed over. Dorian lurches back and scrambles frantically for any shred of magic he can find under his hangover. The smell of death hangs coyly in the room, twisting itself in and out of everything Dorian is taking in.

There are dark bruises on the slave’s collar bones, fitting to the size of Dorian’s mouth. They peek out from under his thin shift, taunting him. Even darker bruises have flowered on the slave’s face, obscured by the shadows of the room. Blood is caked in his hair, or perhaps it’s wine. He can not tell and can not will himself to look at the man any longer. With a violent shake Dorian empties his stomach onto the floor, falling to his knees in shock and horror. In a similar suddenness Dorian finds himself sobbing, shaking and screaming. He is only emotion. No pain, no ache, just fear and disgust.

With inhuman strength Dorian forces himself to stop, shoving the heel of his bleeding hand into his mouth. No one can see this. If anyone had heard him just now he'd be done for. The scandal this would create. What can he say? He closes his eyes to think against the returning migraine. The slave attacked him. Yes, attacked him when Dorian was vulnerable and in his drunken state he struck out and killed him. Believable. Except for the hickeys. Well, those could be from anyone really. Yes, no one would really think this elf could be his lover. What a ridiculous word, lover. He was barely more than a hurried fuck. Maker no, a Pavus and a bed slave? Absurd.  

He struggles to his feet, sliding on the glass. When he finally can stand he pads through the bathroom toward the sideboard beside his bed. Blood smears behind him sloppily, in uneven foot steps. A problem for another slave. Ignoring the shaking in his hands as best he can Dorian pours himself a tumbler of brandy, muttering to himself before pulling on the servants bell. 

A slight girl, no more than eleven at best appears with haste in his door way. 'Makers balls, of all the staff!' he thought bitterly and swallowed all that was in his glass. With a heavy sigh he gestures to the bathroom and fleetingly tries to wipe the blood off of his lips. If the girl was alarmed she didn't show it. 

"There's been...a mishap. My slave..." He shrugs as if the death could not bother him. Her face pales and appears drawn. She nods and turns to the bathroom. For her credit she does not react, only flees to fetch help. Oh the words his father would have for him tomorrow. He pours himself another glass and wraps his body in a silk dressing gown, sitting with perfect composer on the settee by the window. 

Slaves show up to pull their fallen worker from the glass, sweeping up and muttering to each other in some strange language. He knows he can have them whipped for this but his thoughts linger on the slave. He can remember his hurried breath on his neck last night, his strange keening moans, the curl of finger nails in the flesh of Dorian's back. The taste of his mouth comes to mind, the pleading voice. 

_"Can we ever truly be together, Vhenan?"_

_"I can not be your freedom, amatus. I do not have that power."_

Had this all been planned? Was Dorian supposed to attack him. His brain is foggy on this, but it keeps coming back in hard waves, trying to drown him. The scent of blood, someone sobbing. Had it been him? How did no one stop him? Why couldn't he stop himself? He takes another sip to steady himself. 

"Master Dorian, we have a healer for you." The lilting voice broke him out of his thoughts. The eyes peering down on him were mistrustful, the back of this slave too rigid for someone whose will was meant to be broken. Dorian sneered. 

"Did I ask for one?" Dorian responds coolly. "I can't remember." He attempts to put the glass on an end table beside him, but its sides are slick with blood and it falls to the floor in a smash. No one flinches. 

With a resigned sigh Dorian holds out his hands and another slave approaches muttering a spell in their disgusting language, skin grazing him. He pulls back with force, and glares at her. She does not acknowledge this and kneels to heal his feet as well. She does not touch him a second time. When she is done she stands and regards him distantly. 

"Do you will me to heal your neck as well, Serah? Master Halward has said to make you appear presentable." She ducks her head to avoid his eyes, but her voice does not waver. Dorian's hand travels up to his neck, looking for what she means. He felt no wounds there. Upon his confusion she continues. "The love bites, serah." 

The last testament to his slaves existence then. 

"No, that is all." Dorian says after a long moment. "I will go see my father presently." He wanted his father to see this, to see the death his son had wrought. "You are dismissed." she leaves with a wave of his hand. In less time than feels proper the slaves are gone and a new one stands in the bathroom, waiting to assist his master in bathing. Dorian changes quickly, shielding his body from the strange elf. 

Dorian can never fall in love if this is what it wins him. He pours himself another glass and goes to greet his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (It's summer now, so look for updates in all my major fics)


	5. Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a what-if scenario, so bear through it. Takes game canon and shreds it.

It had always come down to fighting between the two of them. 

Jasper had just stormed out of yet another heated discussion, leaving heads spinning in the library. Dorian once thought he loved drama, but this amount of back and forth was running him into the ground. He dragged a hand over his face and sighed, turning to look out the window he’d all but claimed. A headache was pushing between his eyes as if it were an impatient child. It was all he could do not to go chasing Jasper with yet another reason he was right.

They’d been fighting for weeks since Dorian voiced his idea of going back to Tevinter. If Jasper wasn’t such a hard head, it’d all be sorted by now and they’d be lounging about in bed, or fighting dragons together, which they seemed to do in equal measure. But here they were, stone cold silence or loud impassioned speeches marking their time together. 

If Dorian was being honest, it was a let down. He had thought Jasper would be proud of him. He was certainly proud of himself for having the gall to go back home after being nearly killed by his own father. Jasper seemed to have easily forgotten the rough details of his life, glossing over the dark parts of Dorian’s upbringing. He was still a silver spoon type, no matter how hard either tried to forget it. But to negate the trials he was subjecting himself to, just because Jasper was...well, they hadn’t really gotten to why Jasper thought it was a bad idea, just that it was. Still, it hurt. 

Tevinter was his home, in many ways. By birth, by claim, by blood. Dorian missed it terribly, but he couldn’t live with the way it was. The blood magic, the influence, the venatori all working as one slimy ball to tear apart his country. Only Dorian seemed able to see it, and so he was the only one who could stop it. He was ready to fill those shoes, in any way he could. He had already begun sending letters and starting a network, prepped for his arrival. He could win much with his name, but that would only take him so far. He wasn’t too worried, seeing his position in the inquisition and all he had under his belt, but it was always smart to play it safe. He had to see the land reformed. 

And yet Jasper wanted to keep him here, fettered in the library like some slave. Normally Jasper was easy going, and while he kept some things too close to his chest, he had never outright lied about anything when it came to their relationship. But here they were, fighting an all out war. Had Jasper thought they were going to last forever? Had he thought they would hold hands and skip off into some sunset dreamily after he killed Corypheus? The image was laughable, he had to admit, but nowhere near realistic. Dorian was used to being desired, but Jasper’s complete possessiveness was in a word, creepy.   
It wasn’t like Dorian couldn’t just leave, but it felt so much better to have Jasper know what he needed. It wasn’t like these arrangements would be set into motion tomorrow. No, they had months to bicker about details until Jasper would finally give in. And he would give in, Dorian was sure of it. He always did after a while. But his lover’s anger at him still made him want to grovel for forgiveness. Never one to truly placate before, Dorian was shocked at himself. He was never this unsure of himself. 

He shouldn’t have fallen in love

It was dangerous what he’d done, and the baggage he’d bring back home with him would be far heavier than he needed. He knew that the whole time. Had this stopped him? Of course not. He’d gone right in over his head as fast as Jasper could snap his fingers. A flash of a smile, a wink of an eye and Dorian was some househusband, at his inquisitor’s beck and call. 

Rationally, Dorian decided, he could have shut it all down, and he didn’t need to be rolling over at Jasper’s heels the whole time. But he was so...desperate was a dirty word but maybe it fit. By the Maker, he was stupid. He’d march downstairs right now and declare they were through if Jasper wouldn’t see his side! That would set him straight! And Dorian would be on the winning side of the argument after all.

Collecting his things, he almost flew down the stairs. He hustled through the great hall and toward Jasper’s rooms, puffed up and ready for the mother of all fights. He didn’t even bother knocking but rather threw the door open and marched up the stone steps, his first biting remark already on the tip of his tongue. This was what he really needed. As he rounded the corner of the stairs he threw his things onto the couch for dramatic effect and swung on his heel to face...an empty room. 

Perfectly orchestrated entrance ruined Dorian was practically fuming. Where the hell could Jasper be! This was the culmination of three months of frustration and he wasn’t even around to witness it. With a growl Dorian turned and marched back down the steps, leaving his books behind. Make Jasper clean them, since he was so damn nervous about neatness all the time. With far less grace than before Dorian now had to search all of Skyhold. He considered the garden’s first, but knew at this hour of the day they’d be too busy for Jasper. The study, but it was too musty for Jasper’s nerves. Solas? Sometimes they’d sit and mumble in Elvish, but Jasper always complained that Solas’ sounded strange to him and was hard to follow. Dorian finally decided if anyone knew where Jasper would be, it was Josephine. Maybe he could even get her to side with him. 

When he approached the door to her office however, he paused. Jasper was inside, as Dorian could hear him speaking but his tone was...arresting. He spoke quickly, stumbling over words and clearing his throat often. This wasn’t something Dorian was familiar with. Jasper was always so measured when he spoke, at least in languages Dorian understood. There was a pause and Josephine’s thicker accent responded, softly. Dorian could barely make out a word. Jasper cut in, struggling to talk over her. There was silence and a heavy sigh, but Dorian began backing away from the door. 

Jasper trusted Josephine more than he trusted Dorian. Of course he did. How could Dorian have been so blind? He was far from the only person in Jasper’s life. He was barely important to him. Everyone would eventually treat Dorian this way. It made it easier to leave him then. But not now, with his heart pounding in his chest. It would just be sloppy now. He needed...he wasn’t sure. Time alone, or a distraction. He barely registered when the door opened behind him, trying to walk away before he was noticed lurking. Not another thing for the nobles to gossip about. He was all they talked about, he knew it. They were all watching him, laughing behind their stupid metal masks. Dorian reminded himself not to run as he headed toward the library. He was above these feelings, and this paranoia. But he could never take it like Vivienne or Varric, or even Bull. That’s why Jasper hated him. 

He reached his chair in a blur and sank into it shaking. Jasper had so much power over Dorian. And Dorian let it happen. He thought he knew what he was getting himself into, all because he wanted to play hero and ran away with the romantics. Fuck. He had to go. Now. Forget proving himself right, or waiting for the Inquisition to complete it’s task. He stood suddenly and began rolling up his papers, stacking books haphazardly. He didn’t even hear the faint patter of footsteps until Jasper cleared his throat from almost immediately behind Dorian. 

“Vishante Kaffas!” Dorian yelped, turning quickly, hoping he could shield his desk and what he had been doing. “Warn a man,” he joked in a rocky tone when Jasper’s brow knitted in confusion. 

“Vhenan? You...seem frantic. Can I help?” Jasper asked, extending his hands for something. Dorian moved away from them with a nervous laugh. 

“No, I’m...I know what I’m doing.” Dorian replied broadly. A touch of melodrama. Always a good way to throw someone off your trail. Jasper nodded but didn’t walk away. Staring at the space next to his feet Dorian waited for him to speak, tapping his rings against the side of his desk. He wanted to close his eyes, or snap his fingers, just to make Jasper go away. 

He didn’t move. Of course.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jasper began. Dorian didn’t give him time to finish the thought. 

“Oh? You do that now?” he snapped viciously. “You’re done running to Josie to solve your problems?” Jasper’s nose flared, and his eyes flashed with anger at the remark. How dare Dorian attack his friends? But he dragged a hand over his face before he spoke, showing more restraint now than he had in weeks. 

“I was going to say, I’ve thought about you going to Tevinter. Again. A lot,” Jasper trailed off for a moment, but Dorian didn’t react. “Right, so I think...if it’s where you need to be, then so be it. You are free to leave this inquisition at any time.” He straightened his shoulders and released a breath, like it was all he had to say, before his eyebrows drew together in a deep crease. Jasper pulled the corner of his mouth between his teeth for a moment, and perhaps waited too long before Dorian responded. 

“How gracious,” Dorian bit, and raised his chin almost condescendingly. “I am glad I have my master’s leave to go as I wish. If you excuse me, I was trying to do just that.” He turned his back to Jasper and resumed clearing off his things. Not being able to leave well enough alone Dorian continued speaking, not even checking to see if Jasper was behind him. “You trust everyone in this company except for me. You let Bull go off alone, you let Sera do what she wants, you even brought Blackwall back, and you can’t even look him in the face. But I make noises about missing my home and it’s suddenly ‘Dorian, stay here,’ ‘Dorian, you can’t be safe over there,’ like you know anything of Tevinter. You will never understand what it’s like.” 

And then there was silence. Dorian didn’t look up. He was sure Jasper had walked away by now, so he wouldn’t have to hear this embarrassing rant. It wasn’t what he was upset about. It never was. Then, quietly, with the worst sort of shamlessness, came the first sniffle. Just the one crack in Jasper’s composure and Dorian was cut to his core. He should never wonder why he could never keep the ones he loved. 

But Jasper didn’t speak. He didn’t cry out or yell. When Dorian looked up, he was just staring down at his hands. They were still extended in front of him, and shaking considerably. Old scars ran along his fingers, and his knuckles seemed sharp in relief. It seemed surreal. Bizarre. They were just hands, what was Dorian thinking? But he could see them wrapped around Jasper’s twin blades, and again in flashes wrapped around Dorian’s wrists, or pressing into his back. He could see them curled into the hair of the hart Jasper adored, pulling elfroot, cracking in the cold. And Jasper was a hundred things at once. Dorian was remembering what he was losing. 

“Amatus, I...didn’t mean that.” Dorian pleaded. “I didn’t mean that, don’t leave me.” Jasper turned his hands to the ground and pressed them into the tops of his thighs until his knuckles were white. 

“If you doubt my authority, leave.” Jasper sounded hollow when he spoke. “If you don’t need my love, or loyalty, you have always been free to go. I do not need you here, spreading fear and anger to my followers. I’d say choose-” Jasper’s voice cracked but he didn’t stop, “but it’s clear you already have. I can not be with a man who speaks about me like you did. Or do.” Jasper’s hands curled tight now, and his voice even tighter. “I was terrified to lose you. I have always been scared to lose you. But you have never thought that was...okay. Or even reasonable. You bent over backward to prove I was being silly. And then...fenhedis, you pull away from me at any opportunity. And I know, I have always known that this was not about me. And this was always about something else. You don’t want to talk about it, and you let it poison you.” Jasper took a step forward, to which Dorian stepped back, and he lowered his voice. “You said you were done lying to yourself, that you knew it would kill you. And you let your pride poison you against me. And I could never forgive you for that.” With an uncomfortable silence Jasper reached into his pocket and pulled out a small coin, carved of some sort of wood. He placed it on the bookshelf behind him as he turned to leave. “It’ll keep you safe on the road, it’s been blessed by a keeper,” He explained “Dareth shiral...shemlen.”

If Dorian knew better, he would have taken him by the hand and explained his fear. But he let his love leave, hands still stiff by his sides as he walked away. And Dorian still continued to pack. And he left. And he never took that coin. If he had, he might have sold it. Or worse, kept it, read the inscription and realized it was not Ghilan’nain, but Mythal. Understood that Jasper was sending him off with his patron God, and had intended more than safety for him, but justice and love as well. But he hadn’t know better. He shielded his wound until it grew tight and gnarled. Even after Jasper’s death, shrouded in mystery and rumor after the Exalted Council, Dorian refused to return to what had happened between them. It was a mistake he would not make twice. 


	6. Sloth

Halward Pavus was a man of prestige. He had done well for himself. A good place in the magisterium, the respect of his colleagues, and a beautiful family. 

He was never stupid enough to think past appearances. His wife was boring and vapid, his job was tenuous, and his son was a source of more than one grey hair. But Halward could at least say he has always done his best, and by Andraste’s blood that is all he needed to do. 

Once in his life he had been given to hope. Dorian, his son, had shone with promise. Halward didn’t want to admit it but it was obvious that Dorian was much smarter than him, and braver by half. He took risks, asked questions, and knew how to dig just under the skin until he got what he wanted. He liked to think he passed some of his own tenacity onto Dorian, some of his own ambition. His wife Aquinea certainly didn’t do much in terms of motherly affection. Dorian had wanted to make his father proud, and had succeeded more than he ever admitted. 

But then Dorian went too far. He ran on nothing but ambition for so long that eventually he was putting himself on display just to satisfy a basic need for attention. It was at this point Halward lost control. Nothing seemed to rationalize Dorian. No amount of yelling, threatening, or goading could bring him back. He was in a fine circle, leaps and bounds above other students when he spoiled it all with his wretched pride. The altus’ son wound up knocked on his ass, and as much as Dorian had won for his pride, he lost everything. Keeping him in any damn circle was a material deal, and he kept ruining it. Private tutors would be driven away, as well. No one could stand him. Dorian grew bored, and sloppy. At this point he all but stopped trying. He gave himself over to heady absolution and wouldn’t lift a finger. Halward was watching his life’s work wither before him and his only hope was treating it like a joke. He had lovers killed, alcohol dumped, shoveled hundreds in gold to anything that would even remotely fix his son’s behavior. By the time he fell in with Gareus, it was obvious he would never live up to what Halward needed from him. 

All he ever wanted was his son to be successful, marry well, and stay dedicated to his nation. Paltry expectations, in context. But no, Dorian had to disappear, get caught up with rebels and thwart every kindness he ever paid to his son. He couldn’t understand what had gone so wrong that Dorian could be inspired by nothing but pettiness. The only thing Halward could do was a final act of desperation. 

Blood Magic. It was only meant to influence Dorian, keep him safe and steer him towards the path he was always meant to be on. To finally rectify the damages done to the Pavus name. It was vetted, planned, He knew exactly how it would happen. But then his damnable son, who could only leave well enough alone when it meant doing what he was supposed to, discovered the plan. He vanished, along with anything he could carry. Halward had no desire to hurt or kill him, but if Dorian continued this way, he would be killed, by either a political enemy or his own foolish hand. 

This was largely why Halward found himself cowering behind a door in a disgusting inn somewhere around Redcliffe. He had trained in magic for years, won his way into power and wealth, to be sneaking about after his own flesh and blood. He didn’t even deign to consider how humiliating it was, only slightly alleviated by having cleared out the whole place. There he waited, silent, for the door to open. Word was good that soon he’d see Dorian. And his heart fluttered, foolishly. His son, his opportunity. He missed him, regardless of his fruitlessness this far. 

The front door creaked open at that moment, footsteps pressed into the floor and the clatter of armor was almost defaning in the silent room. At that moment Dorian’s voice chimed, somehow different than what halward remembered

“Uh oh, nobody’s here. This doesn’t bode well.” There was a nervous titter at the end, and halward’s heart sank. Was he talking to himself or someone else? Who else could be here? He rounded the corner to see the pair. Dorian, in a set of battlemage armor, looking aloof but well. Better than the soggy mess he had been, last they spoke. His dark skin bronzed in the candle light and he shifted thoughtlessly to protect the man behind him. 

The Inquisitor. When Halward had reached out to him he hadn’t thought it would be a possibility the man might come with his son. What would possess him to intrude upon this moment? Halward controlled a sneer, schooling his expression. An elf, taller than most, with bright red hair, stared him down with cautious curiosity. His facial tattoos stood out starkly against his freckled skin, and the shadow of a scar did not go unnoticed. He was a fighter, and he was ready to protect Dorian, from his own father. Though Dorian shielded him, he looked capable enough. Obviously he must be, else the Inquisition would not have done what they had so far. Halward narrowed his eyes at them. There was obviously some strange familiarity between them, by the way the Inquisitor allowed himself to be covered, yet did not yield in his vigilant body language. By the black divine, this all got far more complicated. 

“Dorian,” Halward announced it as he stepped from the shadow. Dorian did no such social labor to hide his disgust and disappointment. His lip curled into a sneer and he shifted back on his heels with a hand around his staff. Had their relationship really crumbled so far?

“Father. The story about the family retainer was what...a smoke screen?” he asked, Halward blanched slightly, but continued forward none the less. The elf behind Dorian squared his shoulders and kept his eyes on him. What had Dorian possibly told him? How had Dorian known about this?

“You were told,” Halward responded, not truly answering the question. He looked to the elf and continued “I apologize for the deception Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved.” Dorian arched a brow and seemed to laugh to himself silently at that. There it was, his life’s work, a jest.

“Of course not,” Dorian growled, stepping up. “Magister Pavus couldn’t be seen at Skyhold with the Dread Inquisitor. What would people think!” He barely took a breath before he lowered his voice to an icy chill. “What exactly is this, Father? Ambush? Kidnapping?” He showed his teeth like an animal before spitting “Warm family reunion?” Halward wanted to slap him in that moment, but gritted his teeth and sighed. 

“This is how it has always been,” He was hoping to just be able to convince Dorian to come back, but him coming accompanied had not been to plan. Halward glanced to the door, where the Inquisitor cleared his throat. 

“You went through all this to get him here,” the elf said, in a surprisingly unaccented common. “At least hear what he has to say”. The two exchanged a brief glance before Dorian laughed, clearly finding the idea of socializing with his own father hilarious. 

“Yes,” he taunted, “Talk to me. Let me hear how mystified you are by my anger!” Magister Pavus grunted condescendingly at his display of flippancy. 

“Dorian,” He chided, “There’s no need-”

“I prefer the company of men!” his son cried, turning almost entirely away from him. The declaration hung over the whole room. Of course, Halward thought, that’s what he assumed it boiled down to. It had been so much more than that, but he never got farther than that flaw to address any others. It was the line Dorian himself had drawn. “My father disapproves.” Dorian added, for the final flair of dramatics. 

“I’ll need you to explain that,” the elf drawled slowly, his entire demeanor changing. There was a look on his face neither Pavus had expected, entirely absent of disgust or true confusion. Dorian fed into it and turned his anger towards him. 

“Did I stutter, Jasper? Men, and the company thereof. As in sex. Surely, you’ve heard of it!” Jasper, now named, just quirked a brow at Dorian, his eyes shining with humor Dorian only just picked up on. 

“I’ve more than heard of it.” He said, and let it hang there between them. Halward watched in absolute shock as the two men  _ flirted  _ unabashedly before him. These southerners were completely uncouth. 

“No! The herald of Andraste? I am shocked and scandalized!” Dorian couldn’t hide his blush, and Jasper had to catch himself before he did something truly affronting to the Magister before them. 

‘Such sarcasm,” he quipped, turning those glinting eyes back to Dorian’s father, a thrown gauntlet if he’s ever seen one.

“You’re not exactly subtle, Lord Inquisitor.” Dorian jested before turning the same look at Halward. 

“I should have known that’s what this was about!” Halward cried. At least there was a chance of getting Dorian back. He had to realize he had no future here with this man. A simple past indulgence. A relapse of judgement, so to say. Things could still be fixed. 

“No,” Dorian snapped, with a crack in his voice. “You don’t get to make those assumptions. You know nothing about the inquisitor!” 

“This isn’t what I wanted,” He demanded. Dorian interrupted him again, and now his anger was reaching for his magic, for a way to control him. His lazy, hedonistic son. Blast it all, he’d make him sorry for this display. 

“I’m never what you wanted, or had you forgotten!” He accused. “Every deviance, every aberration is shameful and sinful!” He gave but a cursory look before adding “it must be hidden.” They both knew the heavier meaning behind the words, and both played with it. It was a fine line he had chosen to walk but Halward couldn’t back down now. It was for the good of his son and he would rather die than be accused of this negligence. 

“Listen to me!” he meant to yell it, to get Dorian’s attention. They both saw Dorian flinch and said nothing, but he could see Jasper making connections. 

“More lies!” Dorian shouted back. The room gathered with nervous energy, both mages unconsciously reaching for their power. Jasper, to his credit, seemed to pick up on it. In Dorian’s eyes Halward saw he had gone too far. There was no saving him from the life he had now. And the worst of this interaction was still to come. So he waited. 

“He taught me to hate blood magic! The last resort of the weak mind! His words!” Shame and rage peeled off of him in waves, as he stared down his abuser. “But what was the first thing you did when I refused to play pretend!” He threw his hand back, knocking a chair aside. “You tried to change me!” The power in his performance dropped in that last sentence, the full weight of his father’s disdain and hatred sinking into Dorian. How had he been able to simply tuck this away for so long? Jasper’s face became a mask of rage itself, and Halward knew he was now in the room with a talented mage and a bloody rogue. He was absolutely in danger. 

“It was what was best for you! I did it all for you!” He threw back, “Nothing would get you to listen to me!” 

“It was for you! And your fucking legacy!” Dorian defended. He crossed to the other side of the room, anger coursing through him. Halward wanted to spit on the ground he walked. How dare he! Jasper quickly followed behind, touching Dorian’s arm gently. Of course, it was all a game of lust. Dorian turned and faced his father, picking his head up and standing at his full presence. He was a Pavus, and knew it. Halward assumed a similar position and for all the world they seemed two animals, fighting tooth and nail. 

“Tell me why you’re here.” Dorian said finally. There was a pause where Halward considered if he should even respond. 

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition…” he began, only to see Dorian completely shut down before him. 

“I joined because it’s the right thing to do. Once, I had a father who would have known that.” He turned and made for the door with no other response. 

“You used to trust me,” Halward taunted. “I wanted forgiveness, but now I see there is no point. You are nothing.” Jasper barely had time to react before Dorian pushed out of the inn and into the night. He vanished after him silently, leaving Halward alone. He had done everything and it was not enough to best his son’s incompetencies. Here he was, alone, his life’s work nothing. And he could barely bring himself to care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's both sloth bc Dorian failed and also because of Halward's abysmal parenting...it used to make sense. Either way! Finally finished it. Hope you enjoyed. Sorry I completely ripped the dialouge off, I've actually wanted to rewrite that scene over again for a while. Remember kiddos, just cause your abuser asks for forgiveness doesn't mean they weren't abusive, thanks for coming to my TED talk


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